


Earth Angel

by stratumgermanitivum, whiskeyandspite



Series: Easy Street [4]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Helluva Boss (Web Series)
Genre: Angels, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Character, BDSM, Body Horror, Bondage, Established Relationship, False Memories, Gore, Longing, M/M, Magic, Murder, Nostalgia, Obsession, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessiveness, Reincarnation, Rescue, Rescue Mission, Temporary Amnesia, Vore, angelic intervention, kink club
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29747037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: Angel supposed that Al did it to keep up his own appearances more than anything else. He knew from experience now how easily Alastor could drag something out from a portal on a whim, and Niffty seemed to be able to open her own for her own purposes. But perhaps laden with bags, and walking on his own two feet made Alastor feel… alive?A year after On My Way To Easy, something unexpected happens... Charlie's idea... works?
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: Easy Street [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141313
Comments: 64
Kudos: 159





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a bit more plot heavy, but we promise there is kink and sexytimes in there too! We also bring in the whole Helluva Boss gang (and we had a lot of fun with them!)

“Aaaangel,” Charlie called from the entryway, false bravado in her voice again. 

Angel knew before he even looked up, recognizing the sound of Charlie’s concern by now. He and Husker had been bickering over the quality of the whiskey at the bar. Neither of them had particularly refined palettes, but Alastor  _ did, _ and Angel cared far more about Alastor’s particular tastes than Husk did. 

There was no rhyme or reason for when the gifts arrived. Sometimes they went weeks without anything. Sometimes Angel got three in a week. 

This time, it’d been two entire months. Angel had been starting to let his guard down. Big mistake. 

“I don’t want it," he called past Charlie, both sets of visible arms folded over his chest. The delivery imp shot nervous looks between him and Charlie, knees wobbling under the weight of the obscenely large vase of blood red roses he carried. “Take it back,” Angel told him. “And tell him to stop sending them.”

“Sir,” the imp said, voice trembling. Angel felt a stab of guilt. Of course the imp didn’t want to piss off an overlord, especially on  _ Angel’s  _ behalf. 

Alastor had “bought out” Angel’s contract a year ago. Well, he said “bought,” but no amount of pestering had gotten a number from him, not that Angel could have been worth much. Angel and Vaggie privately suspected violence had been involved. Whatever the cost, Alastor had shown up one night with a beaming smile and Angel’s contract, which he’d proceeded to set ablaze at the bar. 

That should have been it. Over. Done with. Handled. But Val… 

He could no longer threaten Angel. Not with the hotel shielding him and one of the biggest, baddest demons in hell sharing Angel’s bed. So he’d turned to affection, apologies, all the sweet talking he’d given Angel when they first met. Through letters, anyway, since Alastor had laid claim to the entire block. 

Angel sighed, put upon, and gestured for the quivering little creature to deposit the flowers by the door --  _ outside _ \-- and drew a hand over his face as the imp scurried away.

“They’re nice flowers,” Charlie started, taking up the flowers before stepping closer to the bar and giving Angel her  _ I believe everyone can change  _ look. He hated that look. Sure, there were a handful of other wannabe goodie-two-shoes in the hotel now, and Charlie was  _ delighted _ by everyone’s progress, but that didn’t mean that Valentino Overlord of Hell™ could change, would change, or was even capable of the attempt.

“All yours, babe,” Angel mumbled.

“Angel,” she was closer now, and Angel pursed his lips, gesturing for Husk to pour him another glass of whiskey so he could prepare himself for the inevitable wheedling that often came like a fucking singing telegram with every one of Val’s ‘gifts’. Like they were in cahoots or something.

“Angel,” she said again, setting the flowers on the bar. “I can’t imagine the pain you’ve gone through--”

“Yeah don’t,” Angel shrugged. “You’ll get nightmares.”

_ “But _ this has been going on for months. Surely if he wasn’t truly sorry he’d stop?”

Angel gave her a look, a look that clearly relayed every ‘bad word he wasn’t meant to utter under this roof’ to her. Charlie sighed, turning to look at the flowers again. There was a haze of red around them, like their aroma was coming to life.

“I suppose we can put them in the lobby,” she said. Angel winced.

“Shove ‘em down the toilet,” he spat. “No, better yet, I’ll get Al to throw ‘em into another dimension.”

“Ha!” Husk flicked his wings in irritation. “Send them to Stolas again.”

Angel spat half his whiskey onto the bar.

“No,” he said, wiping dampness from his lips and ignoring Husk’s furious glare. “No, absolutely not, do not involve that creep in anything that remotely resembles flirting.”

“Do you remember the last time?” Husk said, with the sort of fondness people usually used to look back on memories of their children. 

“Yes,” Angel moaned, “yes, we  _ all  _ remember the last time, no need ta bring it up again.”

“He was pretty aggressive,” Charlie agreed, poking gently at the petals. 

“Do you still have that present he brought you?” Husk asked with a sly smirk. 

The “present” had been a butt plug shaped like an oversized egg, and Stolas had waved it about in a way even a well-practiced whore like Angel found mortifying. 

(He  _ did _ , in fact, still have it, but that was between himself and Alastor, and no one else needed to know.)

“I don’t think he’d be so inappropriate this time,” Charlie chirped, abandoning the roses with a regretful sigh. “I heard he has a boyfriend! ...sort of.”

“‘Big Dicked Blitzy’,” Angel and Husk recited together, before falling into a fit of laughter. Charlie couldn’t keep a smile off her face either. Angel finished his drink and sighed, setting an elbow to the bar and his head against his palm.

He stared at the roses, watched the red hover above them as though the color itself was being sucked away into the air around it. 

The first time he’d smoked one of Val’s cigarettes, he thought he’d gone to heaven. It hit harder than any drug Angel had ever tried, upworld or here. He had no idea what was in it, had never felt that kind of kick again since. Whatever it was, it contributed to Val’s power; that smoke had blinded Angel, smothered him, collared and cuffed him in place. And he’d grown addicted.  _ God  _ he’d been so addicted to that shit--

_ “Gooood evening  _ my dear! Looking charming as ever.”

“Hello Al,” Charlie smiled, walking over. Angel heard her inform him of the roses delivery before she continued on her way, as though several seconds’ warning would do anything at all. It wasn’t that Alastor got  _ angry, _ it was that the entire world seemed to flicker and twitch like a bad connection when any sign of Val entered his territory.

Angel looked over his shoulder and met Al’s eyes with a smile. He couldn’t remember a time he  _ didn’t _ smile around Alastor anymore; something Alastor was more than happy to point out, considering Angel’s original nickname for him.

“Hey, hot stuff,” Angel purred, turning in his seat to rest his elbows back against the bar. He felt the hum in the air without Al having to voice a single vowel.

“Get a room,” Husk muttered behind him. Angel snorted.

“Green’s not your color, Husker,” Alastor quipped back, smile wide as ever. He winked, and Husk muttered something else that Angel didn’t hear. He was certain that Alastor did, though. When his eyes turned to Angel again, his smile eased to something more gentle. There wasn’t a way Angel could explain the difference to others, but he  _ felt it. _ Next to him, the roses silently slipped into a portal, tentacles coiling over the poison in them before it closed up again.

“What sort of trouble have you been getting yourself into, then?” he asked, setting his cane between his feet and resting his hands on it. “Can’t take my eyes off you for a moment, it seems.”

“Good, don’t want’cha to.” Angel grinned.

Alastor tilted his head and inspected him, just a split second, but so thorough that Angel gave a happy little shiver. It was nice to have someone watching him who wasn’t looking for weak spots.

A wisp of energy touched Angel’s cheek, caressed the curve of his jaw. “M’alright,” he assured it, and it flickered out of sight. 

“Did he make the delivery himself?” Alastor asked, tone mild, as if Angel and Husk didn’t both recognize the ticking of a time bomb.

“Nah,” Angel said, “he knows better. Now. Sent some shivering little thing, I felt bad asking it to flip him off.”

Alastor hummed, both verbally and with a hiss of static. “And the letter?”

“There was a letter?” Angel asked with faked innocence. Of course there had been a letter. There was always a letter. Used to be texts and voicemails too, before Al swiped Angel’s phone and replaced it with a new one. But Angel didn’t read them anymore, not after weeks of Al and Vaggie and even naive  _ Charlie _ telling him he was just punishing himself by letting Val get to him.

“Good boy,” Alastor purred, in a voice that made Angel shiver and Husk choke on his own saliva. 

“Proud of me, Daddy?” Angel cooed. 

“Get out of my bar,” Husk groaned. “You’re making me sick.”

Alastor’s eyes flicked to him a moment before he looked away and tilted his head. The ear-like fluff of hair at the top of his head flicked a little, and another shadow slid from his own and up into the rafters of the hotel. Checking, always checking.

“I suppose it is a little  _ early _ for a drink,” he conceded, gesturing with his chin for Angel to follow him.

Since more freeloaders --  _ patrons, _ Charlie always said,  _ patrons, Angel _ \-- had moved into the hotel, more furnishings had mysteriously appeared out of nowhere. The lobby was now filled with comfortable couches and armchairs, all of an era Angel was more than familiar with. There was another fireplace too, where the chimney went, no one knew or cared, but it was always lit. A library had manifested itself on the second floor, and spanned miles and miles in every direction.

How Niffty took care of it all was uncanny, but it was all always impeccable.

Alastor chose one of the chaise lounges to sit himself down on, and Angel happily plonked himself down right next to him.

“So, any closer to  _ redemption _ today, sweetling?”

“Nah,” Angel grinned. “This place ain’t got a confessional, who’m I gonna tell my shit to?”

Alastor blinked, a flicker of red symbols around him a moment, a whine of static, before he blinked again.

“Hasn’t it?”

Angel snorted. “Stop that. Don’t pull some poor bastard here who doesn’t belong here.”

“Oh, there’s quite a selection of priests to choose from, I assure you,” Alastor quipped back. “Any denomination you desire.”

“You’re hot when you do that, you know.”

“When I do what?” Alastor’s smile was just as wide as always, but his eyes narrowed a little. Angel squirmed happily where he sat. He wanted nothing more than to climb into Al’s lap and lay his claim on him for the world to see, but that wasn’t what he did anymore.

“Anything,” Angel told him. “And you know it. You know, you don’t gotta give me  _ everything _ I ask for.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Alastor said, smooth as silk. “Why, is there something you were thinking of asking for?”

“Just your number,” Angel said, giving a little flutter of his lashes to really sell it. He held up two hands, outstretched, offering up the choice. “Comfort level?”

Something in Alastor’s gaze softened, something only Angel could see. No one else would have been able to pick out the slightest twitches on his features, the changes in the radio fuzz that colored his voice. Alastor considered Angel’s hands very seriously. 

“Six,” he decided, taking one of Angel’s hands and lifting it to his mouth to kiss the knuckles.

Angel nodded. A six, he could work with. “Is a cuddle okay?”

Alastor released his hand, draping his arm over the back of the couch invitingly. “Shoulder would be too much. A lap, on the other hand…” He gave Angel a knowing look. Angel was a sucker for any kind of cuddling, but he’d take Alastor’s lap any day, and Alastor knew it. With a happy sigh, Angel flopped onto his side, curling up with his head on Alastor’s thighs. 

“I don’t suppose I could have hands?” Angel asked, shifting to make his hair flop pointedly. Alastor gave him a smirk that was practically a roll of his eyes, settling his hands onto Angel’s head. 

“You can always have hands,” he said, rubbing at the sensitive spot just behind Angel’s ear. “You know that.”

If Angel could purr, he absolutely would have. Instead he just closed his eyes and relaxed into it. It had taken a long time to get here, to get anywhere near here, and the fact that Alastor now rarely thought more than a few seconds before giving Angel a realistic number was extraordinary.

He felt eyes on him and cracked one of his own open.

Vaggie was gaping at them from across the room, one hand pointing, the other gesturing, as though that alone could convey the sheer  _ what the almighty fuck, in public??? _ of the situation. Angel grinned, gold tooth on show, and let his eyes close again.

Good.

Let them look. Let them  _ see _ that they were together. They’d never made a show of keeping it secret, not really, but it was rare that Alastor allowed such blatant PDA that Angel relished the moments he could get.

Besides, Vaggie was fun to tease when she was overwhelmed. They’d grown to be fairly civil since the turf war incident.

“I was thinking of asking you to dinner,” Alastor said after a while. Angel gasped dramatically and pressed two hands to his cheeks, pushing his lips out of shape.

“I thought you  _ never _ would!”

“And now I think I might not,” Al quipped back, tugging Angel’s hair not so gently before returning to his petting. “I’ve some errands to run in the city, if you’d like to join me.”

“Mmm, what kind of errands?” Angel asked, as if he might ever decline alone time with Alastor. 

“The sorts that will take me right past the little boutique with the purple columns by the door,” Alastor told him. “Should I finish my errands quickly enough, I may have a few moments to pop inside.”

Angel grinned up at him, all teeth. “Were you thinking lace or silk?” He purred. 

“Both, I should think. Although I wouldn’t have enough hands for the bags if I went on my own…”

“What sorta boyfriend would I be if I let you wander off inta town without me?”

As expected, Alastor wrinkled his nose at the term. When pressed to define their relationship, he preferred classier, older phrases. Angel had been called a ‘beau’ more than once. 

But Angel always liked a chance to rile him up. 

“Darling,” Alastor said, with a note of warning. 

“I’ll be good,” Angel promised. “But I want dessert, too.”

“Of course.”

Having plans didn’t mean they immediately moved. Angel enjoyed Al’s very talented fingers against his scalp for another half hour before Alastor tugged his hair into place and lifted one of Angel’s hands to kiss his knuckles again.

“Get up, my dear. Knowing you, you’ll want to dress for the occasion.”

Angel took his time stretching, arched back over Alastor’s lap before he sat up and fluffed his chest a little. He always wanted to dress up. He’d wanted to before he knew Al, and now with Al’s eyes on him he wanted to even more. He hadn’t had a lacking wardrobe before, but with overly generous donations it had grown large enough to require a room of its own -- though it was still technically connected to Angel’s room in the hotel, he knew that the space itself was lightyears away, wherever Alastor had deemed necessary to place it.

He turned to Al and kissed his cheek, enough to see a blush start to creep across his skin, and hopped off the chaise.

“I won’t be long,” he promised.

Alastor hummed but didn’t comment either way. 

Angel made his way upstairs, unable to hide his smile even though there was no one to see it on his floor. It had been… a while now, he no longer counted years down here, just decades. But even in that time, Angel had yet to get used to the genuinely fond attention Alastor gave him. It was affectionate and soft, he’d go as far as to say  _ kind, _ even when they were engaged in outwardly rather  _ un _ kind things. It was still new, still novel for Angel, who’d never had it in his life or his afterlife before Alastor had come along.

True to his word, he didn’t take long getting ready. He’d gone for a pinstripe suit and a feathered hat, what Cherri lovingly called his ‘kinky mob boss getup’. When he made his way downstairs, Alastor was at the bar again, leaning over it to talk to Husk as he nursed a whiskey. Angel just took a moment to  _ look _ at him, to take him in. Although Al was all angles, he was incredibly good at bending them to appear soft; he had one foot tucked behind the other, the toe of his shoe pressed to the floor, and had tilted his hips, allowing the curve of his waist to be seen.

He’d  _ posed _ knowing that Angel would come down the stairs and see him just so. It made Angel preen.

He approached the bar and hopped up on it effortlessly, crossing his feet at the ankles and letting them swing.

“Hiya stranger, you lookin’ for a good time?”

“Get off my bar,” Husker grunted.

“Not til I get an answer, sweetcheeks.”

“He was complimenting your choice of whiskey,” the demon spat back. “Now go contort yourself into a fucking pretzel or what the fuck ever you’re planning for the night  _ off. my. bar.” _

“Presents first,  _ then _ party,” Angel purred. Husker looked like he was going to shove Angel off the bar himself. 

“ _ Errands _ first,” Alastor corrected, offering Angel his arm. “Then dinner, and then perhaps a treat, if you’re  _ very _ good.”

Husker pretended to gag behind the counter. “I can still quit, ya know.”

“But then  _ dear _ Charlie would be so disappointed,” Alastor said, straightening the edges of Angel’s coat for him as he hopped down from the bar. “I’d hate to see her poor, devastated face when you told her you were no longer willing to help her achieve her dreams.”

“Go get laid like a normal person,” Husker grumbled. “Why ya gotta make a whole fucking production of it?”

“I’m whetting his appetite,” Angel said. “Daddy likes to be wooed.”

“Darling,” Alastor said, in a voice that, for him, was very near pleading. Even now, his buttons were  _ so _ easy to push. 

“I just can’t help myself,” Angel said. “Better distract me.”

“Can’t ya gag him or something?” Husk shouted after them. Alastor grinned down at Angel.

“I’m tempted,” he murmured.

‘Running errands’ with Alastor was, unfortunately for Angel, quite simply that. They ran errands. Al had contacts all over the city, and found that in-person visits worked much better than a phone call or a letter. They walked and they spoke quietly about mundane things, stopping to buy some coffee, to purchase some offal for Rosie -- “it’s her deathday, my darling, I can’t exactly show up empty-handed!” -- to buy supplies for the house. 

Angel supposed that Al did it to keep up his own appearances more than anything else. He knew from experience now how easily Alastor could drag something out from a portal on a whim, and Niffty seemed to be able to open her own for her own purposes. But perhaps laden with bags, and walking on his own two feet made Alastor feel… alive?

They had dinner at a  _ rather fine establishment _ according to Alastor, and weren’t bothered by any chatter or loud chewing as no one was anywhere near them as they ate. Angel still didn’t understand the whole thing with the entire underworld being scared shitless of his partner. Sure, Al could be intimidating if he wanted, and yeah he could bend time, space, and reality to his whim, and okay he could slip through his own shadow to appear behind you instead of in front of you or get swirly tentacles to do his bidding. But he wasn’t  _ scary. _

After dinner, and dessert, Alastor offered Angel his arm again and proudly strode with him to Angel’s favorite place in the city, outside of Alastor’s apartment with a view.

The shop was manned by… something. But whatever it was, wasn’t afraid of Alastor either, and communicated in bleeps and beeps, almost like a morse code machine. Angel understood why he was so fond of the place.

Anything that might suit Angel’s slender, multi-armed body had to be personally fitted, but this shop had his measurements on file by now. Every couple of weeks, they picked up a fresh order, and always ended up getting something new. They were such regular customers at this point that often Angel found the display items fit over him nicely to begin with, particularly those that came in pink.

As for the items themselves, well. Alastor was nothing if not devoted to aesthetics. Sexual arousal may not have been his area of expertise, but he enjoyed  _ looking _ at Angel, and every item in the shop was designed to draw the eye. Lace, silk, beads. Soft and sheer curtains of fabric drifting from delicately scalloped cups, over silk fabric that might, just  _ barely _ count as panties.

On occasion, Alastor liked him in something a bit  _ less _ revealing, something long and classically old-fashioned and  _ girlish _ , something that made Angel feel a helluva lot more sweet and delicate than he’d ever thought he’d feel when he’d been a lonely human. 

But in general, Angel was allowed to run wild, and run wild he did, piling things on the counter to be altered while Alastor chatted with the shopkeep, as if his beeps made any sense at all.

“I’ll meet you outside?” Angel suggested when they were done. “I need a cigarette.”

“Don’t wander,” Alastor said. “Stay just outside.”

Angel didn’t need the instruction, but he  _ liked _ it. He liked having all of Alastor’s attention on him. He liked seeing him pleased when Angel obeyed. 

“You got it, sugar.”

Smoking had been a hobby upworld as well. Angel had even had one of those elegant cigarette holders that were popular with the ladies back then -- he’d stolen it from Molly because their mother could just as easily buy her another.

Down here, though, he smoked whatever he could get his hands on. When he’d come over to Al’s, he’d smoke the expensive, good tobacco he had there. When he grabbed something from the street, it was usually absolute rubbish, but he smoked it anyway.

Angel enjoyed the meditative nature of it, the way it controlled his breathing, steady and deliberate, the way the smoke coiled and curled and silvery, he liked how the cigarette looked between his lips -- and he knew others did too.

He leaned back, his head gently tapping the wall behind him, hat pulled down low so as not to damage it. Angel closed his eyes, two arms crossed and one in his pocket as he flicked the filter of his cigarette with the other. They’d had a lovely evening, and would have an even more lovely one when they came home -- Angel could smell it in the air when Alastor was in a  _ mood _ for some play, and it had smelled stormy all night. He was pleasantly tired. No aches or pains, no healing bruises he hadn’t asked for… a year away from the job and it was starting to feel like a distant memory, like it almost hadn’t happened at all. He wasn’t Angel Dust the Porn Star anymore. He was just Angel. Just--

“Angelcakes,”

Angel shuddered so hard he flattened himself against the wall, eyes immediately seeking the shadows for that familiar cheshire cat smile, those glowing eyes, the red smoke…

“You can’t be here,” he hissed.

“Where would that be, baby? On the street?”

“Near  _ me _ ,” Angel clarified.

“Are you going to call your  _ big bad boyfriend _ to come and protect you?” Val taunted. Angel could see him now, beneath a streetlight where the bulb had burst, half-hidden in the dark, but not  _ hiding. _ “The Angel  _ I  _ knew could take care of himself. It would be  _ such _ a pity if that Angel has been smothered into silence, wouldn’t it?”

“No one’s smothering me,” Angel said, “not anymore.”

Being with Alastor had made him braver. Angel could look back now and see what had happened to him for what it was, call it by name. But to say such things to Val’s  _ face _ was something new entirely. It caught in his throat, a tight band sealing itself painfully around his chest. He was still waiting for punishment, retribution.

Things that Alastor would never let happen to him. All Angel had to do was raise his voice a little louder, pitch it with distress, and Al would be here. And there’d be yelling, or Alastor’s composed version of it. Possibly a fight, if Val was high or in a mood. 

Alastor could absolutely take Val in a fight, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get hurt. 

“He’ll be pissed if he sees you here,” Angel said. “You made a deal--”

“That I would relinquish all ownership of you,” Val said, taking a step further. Angel felt along the wall behind him for the door handle. “That I would allow you to live in peace within the hotel. And I have done so, haven’t I, sweetheart? I’ve tried so very hard to be good for you, since you ran off.”

As if Angel was a petulant child having a tantrum. 

“You need to stop sending shit to the hotel,” he said. “I don’t want your gifts or your letters.”

“Angel. Babydoll.” Val’s voice was a soft coo, so thickly sweet that Angel could taste it. “I just want to make amends. Talk to you. Apologize. I’ve been doing so much better, since you’ve been gone.”

“Congratu-fucking-lations,” Angel sneered. “So’ve I. That doesn’t mean I wanna see you again.”

“Oh that  _ hurt, _ baby,” Val had slunk close enough to lower his voice, though still far enough away that neither he nor Angel could touch each other even at a reach. “I thought you were on the path to redemption? Forgiveness?”

“Well I ain’t there yet,” Angel replied, grasping the door handle but not yet turning it. “Back the fuck off, Val, I don’t wanna see you, or yer gifts. Leave me be.”

“That’s a pity,” Val sighed, reaching into his coat for a cigarette of his own. “Can I at least get a light, before I move on into the depths of the city?”

Angel swallowed. He didn’t want Val anywhere near him, he didn’t want to light his fucking cigarette, when he knew full well that Val could do it himself with a click of his fingers. But the word ‘no’ still came with difficulties, still choked Angel down. By the time he’d summoned the courage to say anything at all, Val was close enough for Angel to breathe in the smell of him. Familiar, musky, warm.  _ God _ he’d used to live for that smell, live for the moment Val would welcome him into his arms and let him snuggle up against that coat.

Once.

He had lived for it, once.

Not anymore.

“Hold still, baby,” Val murmured, leaning in. For a second, Angel genuinely thought he was going to kiss him, but instead, he leaned in near enough for the end of his cigarette to touch the cherry of Angel’s, the contact and Angel’s panicked inhale were enough to ignite it.

When he pulled back, there was that look in Val’s eyes again, that look that had coaxed Angel into his own prison in the first place.

“When he stops treating you right, angelcakes, you know where to find Daddy.” he blew out a plume of red smoke that immediately coiled around Angel’s throat, a gentle, tingling reminder, and then he turned and left, steps deliberate and slow as he moved off down the street.

The smoke lingered far longer than any normal smoke should have, and Angel felt like he needed a shower when it vanished.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Ah, Charlie,” he smiled, “my_ darling _little demon belle,”_
> 
> _“Oh! Uh, hi Al...astor. How’s it going?”_
> 
> _“Just_ marvellous,” _he replied, spinning his cane between his fingers before he struck the end of it to the ground hard enough to crack the tile a little. “That wasn’t my_ terrible _boy you were just ushering out the door, was it?”_
> 
>  _“Your-- oh! Angel! Haha, no,_ nooo, _not him. Haven’t seen him. He usually sleeps in, doesn’t… doesn’t he?”_
> 
> _“Yes, usually he does,” Alastor agreed, tilting his head a little, looking past Charlie as though he could see through the closed door. “I’m afraid I can’t find him, and my first thought was to check the bar.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so it begins...

Charlie had always been an early riser. Sunrises in hell were…  _ complicated _ , but she liked to try and beat them, see the colors dance across the sky and know she was already up and ready for the day. 

Now that she lived in a hotel with a dozen other people, she liked to be able to prepare things when the rooms were quiet, except for Niffty. Niffty, as far as Charlie could tell, did not sleep, nor did she stop moving. That morning, she was polishing the stained glass in the door one color at a time, with a very tiny cloth. 

“Good morning, Miss Charlie,” she chirped, waving her little fist in the air. “I was just about to start breakfast in, oh, about seventeen minutes? That’s not too late, is it?”

The first rays of light were only just beginning to catch on the glass. Charlie shook her head with a smile. 

“No one else is up yet, Niffty, you take your time.”

“I’ll start in  _ nineteen _ minutes, then,” Niffty decided, turning back to her task. 

Charlie just shook her head, amused, and left her to it.

Unlike Charlie, Vaggie was  _ not _ an early riser. She usually joined Charlie at the breakfast table at the last possible minute, and muttered incoherently until she had several cups of coffee in her. But it was usually Vaggie who kept Charlie’s mind from running too wild with her plans and ideas, Vaggie who kept the hotel going because of that. Her passion for it rivaled only Charlie’s and Charlie  _ knew _ it was because she herself lived for the place.

She couldn’t remember what eternity had felt like without her at her side.

Charlie considered going out to get something to surprise her with, there was a bakery near Charlie’s childhood home that made the best donuts, and it was only a short drive away in the limo, and the limo drove itself, so--

“Miss Charlie!”

Charlie turned, her hands fiddling with one of her suspenders as her mind raced with possibilities. She had to remember to look down to actually see Niffty.

“Miss Charlie, someone’s at the door for you!” she said. Charlie blinked.

“Uh, there is?”

“Sure there is! Someone very tall,  _ and very bright, _ you know, like WOW it hurts to even look at him haha. Sorry, was that mean? I hope it wasn’t mean, he doesn’t  _ look _ mean--”

“What does he look like?” Charlie interrupted her, her plans for the morning surprise grinding to a shuddering halt.

“He looks a bit like you!” Niffty replied with a smile, her one eye zooming around Charlie’s frame as though taking her measurements. “Blonde and wide-eyed and self-assured. Do you have a brother? He looks like he could be your brother--”

“Niffty,” Charlie said, her voice a little too chipper. “Uh, maybe starting on breakfast  _ now _ would be a good idea?”

“Oh! Duh, well, of course, I’ll get that started right away Miss Charlie!”

Charlie watched Niffty zip away and finally allowed herself to blink. No,  _ she  _ didn’t have a brother, but her father did. Several of them, in fact.  _ None _ of whom should have been popping in for a visit for another hundred or so days.

Charlie bolted for the door.

The man who stood there was beautiful, in a way only perfect things can be beautiful. He was tall, towering even for hell. Charlie knew him instantly, though family dinners were few and far between, and even on the rare occasion Lucifer managed to stomach a few moments with his brothers,  _ this _ one was usually  _ far _ too busy to see them.

“Uncle En,” Charlie squeaked. “How, uh,  _ lovely _ to see you! Does dad know you’re visiting?”

Enoch, Metatron, highest of Angels, recorder of the Heavenly word and voice for God Himself, winced. 

“No, uh, definitely not. And it’s probably better if we don’t tell him. May I come in?”

It was worded politely, but it was definitely  _ not _ a request. Charlie stepped aside, letting in the Archangel and all his holy light. 

“Do you… D’ya think you could turn that down? Just a tiny bit?” Charlie requested. “Most of our staff and guests aren’t hellborn. Ex-humans aren’t as sturdy, you might hurt them.”

“Of course,”

The light wasn’t  _ just _ light, per se, it was almost physical. Charlie knew that coming too close, even for her, would feel like pressing up against a balloon. She watched as Enoch sighed, moved his hands before him, palm up, and breathed in, the light slipping into him like smoke. When he looked at her again, he looked almost painfully ordinary.

Her father’s words in her mind, as always. He always preened when he said that, too.

She swallowed and gestured to one of the couches, following almost on tiptoes behind him as he went.

_ Oooh if only Vaggie were here, _ she thought,  _ she’d know what to say, she always knew what to say. _

At that moment, Niffty returned, quick as a flash, with a tray bearing a jug of coffee, two cups, milk, sugar, and a selection of cookies.

“Do you and your pretty guest need anything else, Miss Charlie?” she asked. 

“No, Niffty, we’re fine. Just, uh, as you were!”

“Okay, Miss Charlie!”

When she was gone again, Charlie turned to look at her uncle, who was happily pouring himself a cup of coffee and spooning in several heaped teaspoons of sugar.

“So what’s going on, Uncle En?” She asked carefully. “Did I miss a birthday? Heh,”

“No, no, nothing as sinister as that my dear,” he assured her, though ‘assured’ wasn’t really what Charlie felt. He didn’t want to speak with her father,  _ his _ brother, he wanted to speak to  _ her. _ “I just finally got around to reading the family newsletter and read all about this  _ curious _ project of yours.”

He raised his eyebrows a little as he took a sip of coffee, a hint for her to elaborate, if she wished. She didn’t wish, but she elaborated anyway.

“Wellll…” she said, wondering if Enoch would be amiable to her song. Probably not. It hadn’t gone over so well the last time. “Hell is my home, Uncle Enoch. I know that… It’s not  _ ideal _ for you--” there had been more than one family disagreement, when she was little, about the ‘appropriate places to bring up children’-- “but I do care about the people here.”

Enoch’s smile was stiff, artificial, but he was still showing it to her, nodding along as she spoke. In her family, faked interest was honestly a  _ good _ sign. 

“And I just… It hurts me, to see them slaughtered.”

“We don’t like to say ‘slaughtered,’” Enoch hastened to assure her. “The souls we…  _ remove _ don’t feel any further pain or suffering. They may lose the unlives they build for themselves down here, but they no longer hurt.”

“But they don’t get to go to heaven, either,” Charlie said. “They just… stop.”

“An unfortunate truth,” Enoch agreed, “but a natural consequence of the choices they make in life.”

“That’s the thing,” Charlie said, emboldened by her own excitement for the project. “They’re  _ still _ making choices when they’re down here, and they can make better ones! Sinners in Hell still have free will. If they could turn their lives around, do better, maybe they could go to heaven. And then we wouldn’t  _ need _ yearly exorcisms.”

“Heaven is very…  _ selective _ , my dear,” Enoch said. “ _ You _ were offered a place as your birthright, but we are much more careful with which mortals we allow into our gates.”

“I know that, Uncle En, which is why I started this,” Charlie smiled. “That way, someone like me, who knows what’s expected, at least,  _ partially _ , can help willing sinners get themselves ready for a chance, at least. That’s all I want for them, just a chance.”

Enoch finished his coffee and set it to the table again, crossing his legs and placing his hands, folded, on his knee.

“Charlotte,” Charlie winced but didn’t correct him, “I won’t lie to you. Your idea didn’t go over so well with the rest of the family. Don’t get me wrong, your enthusiasm for it and your concept were much praised, but it was the  _ practicality  _ of it that was found wanting.”

“Ah,” Charlie replied, unsure what else she could say, or what she was even meant to say. Enoch didn’t take her silence as a chance to join in, however.

“You see, certain generations finally get the idea, down on Earth, for what it actually takes to get into Heaven, and because of that we have a… call it a population control issue. Nothing quite like what goes on down here, but rather unpleasant for those involved nonetheless.  _ So much _ paperwork.”

Enoch sighed, raising his eyes to the ceiling as though someone up there might sympathise. Charlie hoped to all of Hell that no one up there was actually listening in.

“And while the rest of them have their hands full and no imagination whatsoever, not like your father and I, anyway,” he smiled a little wider at this, Charlie tried to mirror the expression. “I think I’ve found a way to make your idea  _ feasible _ . At least, in the beta stage.”

“The... beta stage?” Charlie asked. 

“We, well,  _ I _ , would like to give your experiment a  _ test _ run. Just one soul, for now.”

“You’re going to let someone into Heaven?” Charlie asked, excitement vibrating through her.

“No, no,” Enoch hastened to say, “no, that would  _ never _ be acceptable among my superiors.”

Enoch only had one superior, but, well, He  _ was _ kind of a big deal. Charlie chose not to push the point.

“A soul ascending straight from Hell into Heaven is an  _ impossibility _ , Charlotte. The gap is too wide. It would only be upsetting for all involved, the soul included.”

“But--”

“ _ Earth _ , on the other hand,” Enoch continued, “has a population problem, yes, but on a smaller, more manageable scale. And it is not so far removed from Hell as to be a culture shock.”

“Earth,” Charlie repeated.

“Earth. I would like to extend the opportunity to one soul of your choosing to return to earth, having their original body restored to them. From there, they have the chance to do  _ good _ , to properly  _ earn _ a place in Heaven. They could carry out a mortal life, with all that entails, and when Death comes for them again, we will reconsider their judgement.”

Charlie sat silent for a moment, processing. She’d never considered the idea that it could be a culture shock to go from here up to Heaven; she didn’t go often, just a few times when she was very small to the very edges, where her father and his brothers could discuss the status quo. As she was technically part Angel and the circumstances of her birth had been beyond Charlie’s control, she’d been offered a place once she reached a certain age… but by that point she’d met Vaggie and she wasn’t going without her. 

Maybe Enoch was right? Maybe that alone would have done more harm than good. That was the last thing she wanted.

And Earth was… well, it was  _ Earth. _ More and more souls coming down here claimed they were already much happier being out of the shitshow that this last year had become, and considering they were in  _ Hell _ now that did speak volumes. But being on Earth meant being mortal, and being mortal allowed the person to make good choices and have a proper by-the-book chance of getting into Heaven when their time came.

And that was redemption, right?

“They’ll be able to live a proper life?” Charlie asked.

“Of course. It would, of course, depend on the age at which they perished initially, but a proper human lifespan would be guaranteed. Barring any circumstances out of our hands, such as their free will to go sooner.”

“And they’d remember--”

“No no no, no we couldn’t risk that. There are already so many theorists up there bandying about their personal headcanons of what Heaven and Hell are, we can’t have someone up there with actual  _ memories  _ entering the game, that’s hardly fair. No, they would have no memory of their time in Hell, nor their life before that led them there. Clean slate.”

There was something about that that felt a little off, but Charlie couldn’t quite put it into words. She wanted to say it seemed unfair, but then again, they would be getting a chance no other mortal soul had ever been given.

“And I get to pick who goes?”

“Of course,” Enoch said. “This is  _ your _ project, Charlotte, you know best how the participants are progressing, who has the greatest chance of success.”

“Angel Dust,” Charlie said. The choice was obvious. He’d been through so much, worked so hard, and come so far. On Earth, he would be free of all his torments. 

Free of Valentino. 

“The porn star?” Enoch asked incredulously. Charlie’s eyes narrowed. 

“How did you--”

Enoch choked on his coffee. “Never mind that,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll trust your judgement.”

Charlie looked down at her hands and fiddled with one of the cuffs of her shirt. Something felt  _ wrong _ about this, not only because her uncle wasn’t here to speak to her father, but because he was here at all.  _ No _ angels came down here, they either visited her father directly at their home, or Lucifer went up to meet them. They felt it was beneath them to mingle with the sinners. God, if only Vaggie was here, she’d know just what to ask and just what to do.

But she couldn’t pass this opportunity up, not if it really gave Angel the chance to redeem himself, not if it worked out well and more sinners could be given the opportunity to as well. 

“Yes,” she told him, looking up again. He’d poured himself another cup of coffee and taken up a cookie to dunk into it. “I’m certain. Angel Dust is our longest participant and he’s made incredible strides towards his own redemption, I really think--”

“It is done,” Enoch told her, smile just as plastic, just as false as it had been when he’d walked in, only wider. Charlie blinked at him.

“Great,  _ wow _ , thank you Uncle En! When I tell him, he’ll be so excited!”

Enoch blinked at her, head tilting owlishly to the side. “Tell him?”

“Well of course, how else will he know?”

“My dear, it is  _ done,” _ he repeated. “The soul of Angel Dust the sinner has been returned to Earth to prove himself once more, there’s no one to tell.” 

Oh. Oh  _ no _ . 

“Oh shiiiii-- shoot,” Charlie corrected, cowed by her uncle’s holy presence. 

Alastor was going to  _ exorcise  _ her. 

As if on cue, the lights began to flicker. 

* * *

Alastor did not, strictly speaking, need to sleep, at least not often. He rested, of course, but  _ sleep _ was an unnecessary indulgence. 

Angel, on the other hand, slept regularly and  _ thoroughly,  _ and Alastor found he liked to watch him. The tension in his body smoothed out, his lips parted around soft little breaths. Though Angel had slowly begun to unwind in the time they’d known each other, he still struggled. He was only truly at peace when he was asleep. 

Angel was a demanding little thing, though. He liked when Alastor slept  _ with  _ him, particularly on nights when Alastor could stand to wrap around him and pull him close. Alastor would watch him fall asleep, close his eyes, and rouse in time to ease Angel into waking himself. 

Angel would need more sleep today than usual, after how thoroughly he had begged to be used the night before. Angel liked to be loved roughly, and Alastor was nothing if not an indulgent -- and sadistic -- lover. Alastor, on the other hand, needed as little sleep as always. He woke with the sunrise, reaching out for Angel’s hand--

And finding only the pillow. 

Strange, but not frightening, though a brief surge of panic flickered the lights somewhat. Angel had needs like any other creature down here. Perhaps he’d gone to use the restroom, or fancied a hot shower to ease the ache in his muscles from the night before. Once in a while, he even surprised Alastor by bringing breakfast up for them to enjoy together in bed.

But he’d always been keen; even as a mortal, Alastor could sense things, presences and lack thereof, distances, timings of certain things. Down here, his power had grown even more. A brief stretch of his shadows throughout the hotel -- as he himself stretched in bed -- brought back no sound of Angel, but instead a very,  _ very, _ unusual and somewhat worrisome presence.

Alastor didn’t bother with his coat, but he took his cane as he left the room, heels clicking on the floor even through the carpet laid out there. He took the stairs at a staccato speed and caught Charlie as she was closing the door behind whoever had left the building.

“Ah, Charlie,” he smiled, “my  _ darling  _ little demon belle,”

“Oh! Uh, hi Al...astor. How’s it going?”

“Just  _ marvellous,” _ he replied, spinning his cane between his fingers before he struck the end of it to the ground hard enough to crack the tile a little. “That wasn’t my  _ terrible _ boy you were just ushering out the door, was it?”

“Your-- oh! Angel! Haha, no,  _ nooo, _ not him. Haven’t seen him. He usually sleeps in, doesn’t… doesn’t he?”

“Yes,  _ usually _ he does,” Alastor agreed, tilting his head a little, looking past Charlie as though he could see through the closed door. “I’m afraid I can’t find him, and my  _ first thought _ was to check the bar.”

“Not before 11,” Charlie said, automatic and stern, as she always tried to be when the bar was involved. Almost immediately after, though, she grimaced, and  _ that  _ wasn’t a usual response. 

“It’s a little early for guests,” Alastor said, a suspicion catching him, one that, for the sake of all involved, it was best he was wrong about. “Particularly one with such a…  _ deadly _ aura.”

Charlie blanched, which did nothing at all to soothe the frantic thrumming of every molecule of energy that made up Alastor’s own aura. 

“Tell me, Charlie,” Alastor said, smiling so widely that a cacophony of static seemed to burst to life around him, “what were you doing  _ consorting _ with an  _ exorcist  _ so early in the year?”

“Not an exorcist!” Charlie hastened to assure him. “Just an Archangel. Or, uh, _ the _ Archangel, I guess. Uh, Metatron?”

Her voice ticked up at the end of the sentence, wariness flooding every fiber of her being, her nervousness so thick Alastor could  _ taste _ it. 

“And what did  _ just _ Metatron want?” Alastor asked icily. He could feel himself spiraling, was sure his features were warping with every passing second, twisted and cruel in a way he had not needed to be for quite some time. All the pieces were falling into place, and Alastor did not like the picture they were creating. “This early on a Saturday morning, on the one day my paramour has risen uncharacteristically early from bed.”

“He didn’t hurt him!” Charlie yelped, “I wouldn’t have let him do anything that would  _ hurt _ anyone here.”

Alastor stopped breathing. His next words seemed to come from somewhere other than himself. 

“Charlie…”

“Just. Just hear me out, Alastor, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“ _ Where _ is Angel Dust?”

“... Earth?” Charlie squeaked uncertainly. 

Every light in the hotel, on the block, for a mile in every direction, exploded. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The burn of the alcohol helped soothe his nerves just a little, just enough that when he spoke again he didn’t sound like he was coming through from Heaven itself._
> 
> _“Tell me how it works,” he murmured, turning to look at her. “Tell me what Enoch offered.”_

Val’s first reaction to the lights on his shoot going out wasn’t to curse, or throw a fit as some of the more dramatic cast were doing. It was to light a cigarette, and open his phone.

The message from Vox came through almost immediately, predictable as always.

_ What the fuck’s twisted his cock up this time? _

That was an excellent question, and Val was certain that he knew at least  _ some _ of the answer. Whatever was going on was inevitably to do with Angel, and considering the last time Alastor had deprived the entire Circle of power had been when Val and Vox had been teaching Angel his place,  _ this _ had to be quite the event.

_ Eloquent as always, baby. Why don’t you go and find out? _

The jab was deliberate, and Val locked his phone again and ignored the call that seconds later started humming in his pocket. Vox had his connections, of course, but Val had his own. And his, Val was certain, would be much easier to ‘convince’ to help him.

In the nearly ninety years since Alastor had dropped into Hell and immediately decided he owned the place, nothing had ever made him angry. Irritated, perhaps, but never angry. Alastor’s moods tended more towards frantic excitement, or at the very least, a gleeful facade. He had cheerfully murdered his way through the lower denizens of Hell, and a small handful of creatures who should have been able to snap him like the scrawny toothpick he was. Every action he took, he did with a broad, sharp smile on his creepy little face. 

He was barely half Val’s size, and even  _ Val _ was a little scared of him.

The only thing that had ever made him angry was Angel, specifically anything that endangered him. He’d blown out all the power only that one time, and he’d been fucking  _ icy _ the day he’d come to barter with Val for Angel’s soul. 

That had been a Hell of a day. Val had been backed into a corner, no other option than to give the freak what he wanted. He’d come bearing more power than any mortal soul should have had access to. 

But Val had been biding his time. He’d worded the agreement so carefully -- he was never to do anything to Angel without his permission. Which meant if he could coax Angel back, the deal was null and void.

So far, Val’s attempts had been paltry, prodding the boundaries to see where they were. Alastor himself had caught Val nearby more than once, and now Angel almost never left the hotel on his own. 

If Alastor was blowing fuses again, though, something was wrong with Angel. Maybe he was weak, vulnerable. Maybe he’d finally had enough of sucking freak dick and broken things off. Maybe they’d had a fight, and Alastor had kicked him to the curb, leaving him lonely and fragile and ripe for soothing. 

Val made his way to the limo and climbed in, and moments later it had peeled from the curb, taking him to the outskirts of the Pride circle, and not quite to the border of the next.

He went to Imp City.

If Angel was walking the streets, the last thing Val wanted to do was go to him immediately. Angel had always been an emotional little soul, sassy and fierce, sure, but very easy to tame. Val wasn’t in the mood for histrionics and tantrums. He’d wait, if Angel was indeed on his own, then Val would find him in due time.

In the meantime, he needed eyes and ears that Alastor wouldn’t immediately suspect. Val knew he himself used imps for errands, everyone did, and wouldn’t find their presence suspicious. And imps were cheap. Most would cut off a limb for a chance to get into Pentagram City, just for a day.

He recruited seven, all strange and chirping little things, determined to leave Val with a good impression. They’d be paid on delivery of information, but they’d be paid handsomely. Val watched them scurry away and slip into the shadows, moving with the speed and efficiency of the determined desperate.

When his phone hummed in his pocket again, Val took the call from Vox, and listened.

* * *

“A-and that’s when Uncle En offered to give one soul a chance to redeem themselves on earth,” Charlie stuttered, trying to keep her tone upbeat, even as the space around Alastor swirled with symbols and his shadows had spread all over the floor and walls. One had even caught Niffty, and gently albeit firmly put her back in the kitchen before slamming the door.

“Really,” Alastor murmured. “How  _ kind _ of him. Such a  _ charming _ man, your uncle, I wonder if we’ve ever crossed paths. But excuse my interrogation, my dear, I’m merely attempting to make sense of the information you’ve given me. Are you telling me that at your suggestion, Angel was taken from Hell and put back on earth?”

“Yeah,” Charlie fidgeted. “Yeah that’s what he said happened.”

“So, without his  _ consent, _ his genuine  _ desire, _ he was given this  _ gift _ of redemption by the Voice of God himself?”

“In my defense…” Charlie began, and immediately trailed off at the withering look Alastor gave her.

He was having trouble keeping himself composed. He felt as if he was going to burst apart at the seams, quite literally, losing himself to the black shadows that came to call. Dust in the wind, seeking out Angel in corners where he would not be found.

“I  _ wanted _ to talk to Angel,” Charlie said, “believe me, I did! But it sort of just… happened.”

“It. Just. Happened.” Alastor crackled and popped, his own voice echoing from some distant shore. “You  _ accidentally _ banished a soul from the entire dimension.”

“ _ I _ didn’t do anything,” Charlie insisted. “Uncle En did.  _ I _ would have warned Angel, given him a chance to… to say his goodbyes.”

“You seem very certain that he would have  _ wanted _ such a blessing.”

Charlie flushed with a hot, bright, unexpected anger. “He  _ would _ have,” she said, and then her expression shifted, her voice softening. “Alastor, I know you care about him,” she said gently, “and I know these aren’t the  _ best _ of circumstances, but this was the goal, wasn’t it? Redemption? A chance at heaven? That was why Angel was here.”

“Angel was here because he needed a place where he would be safe from repeated torture and rape,” Alastor said, relishing in the violent, full bodied flinch it earned him. They had never saidit in so many words, but Charlie was even more a fool than she acted if she did not understand the nature of what Angel had been running from. “He stayed after I bartered his freedom because he valued your friendship, a friendship you have repaid by erasing his entire life without his consent.”

“Look, I’m  _ sorry!” _ to her credit, Charlie did seem to be genuinely distressed by what had happened. “I’m sorry, but… what’s done is done. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t get him back! I don’t have anywhere near the power Uncle En has--”

“Does your father know of these developments?”

Charlie looked like the unlife had been sucked out of her. And she almost launched herself at Alastor, grabbing his arm before he could move it aside.

_ “Please don’t tell my dad!” _ Charlie’s eyes had gone red, fangs protruding from her usually charming girlish smile. She really had inherited her mother’s temper.

Alastor extricated himself and stepped back. “Seems strange that with his  _ brother _ visiting--”

“He didn’t wanna talk to my dad!” Charlie insisted. “He told me not to tell him, not to call him down here. I don’t know why! I don’t--” she stopped for a moment, drawing a hand through her hair. “He said pulling a soul out of Hell and into Heaven was impossible, that it was too far, that it would do harm to him, even if we tried. But he said that he thought my idea had promise, offered possibility, and he wanted to help.”

“Help,” Alastor damn near spat the word, and turned on his heel to make his way to the bar. Early or not, he was getting a goddamn drink. He didn’t reach for what Husker had on display, instead, he opened a small portal and took from it one of his more prized vintages and took a swig straight from the bottle.

The burn of the alcohol helped soothe his nerves just a little, just enough that when he spoke again he didn’t sound like he was coming through from Heaven itself.

“Tell me how it works,” he murmured, turning to look at her. “Tell me what Enoch offered.”

“He said…” Charlie stopped, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “It sounds like he rejuvenated Angel’s body,” she said slowly. “I guess making a new one is probably hard, huh? Hell kinda warps the soul. I mean, with all the energy in the air, we--”

“ _ Charlie _ ,” Alastor hissed. “Please,  _ attempt _ to stay on topic.”

“R-right,” Charlie stammered. “Well, he said Angel would have a normal life span, depending on the age he’d been when he died, which I’m not sure of…”

“Thirty-seven,” Alastor murmured. “Continue.”

“No heavenly interference, just a long, normal life, unless he did something to end it himself. And I guess they’d give him new memories, since, well, it’s not the forties anymore.” Charlie tapped her lower lip with her index finger. “He said we couldn’t let Angel remember any of his old life or his time in hell, it wouldn’t be fair to everyone else.”

“Then  _ how _ ,” Alastor growled, “is Angel meant to recall the  _ lessons _ you’ve supposedly taught him?”

Alastor abhorred rudeness, he despised those that made others uncomfortable, and had he been in his right mind then, he would have immediately apologised and made amends to Charlie. Not only was she a lady, she was also the princess of Hell, and much more powerful than he himself was.

And they both knew it.

And yet here they were, Alastor scolding her as though she were a wayward child, and Charlie  _ allowing it. _

_ Because she knows it’s wrong, _ Alastor tried to convince himself.  _ Because she realized that this was not how redemption should work. _

“Don’t talk to her like that!” the voice rang loud from the stairs and both Alastor and Charlie looked over. Vaggie looked barely awake but ready to fight. Alastor supposed that was fair, considering his reaction to  _ his _ partner being in trouble.

They both watched Vaggie descend the stairs, spear in hand. By the time she got to Charlie’s side, Alastor had had another few pulls from the bottle, and set it back to where he’d taken it from, rubbing his temples.

“I apologise, my dear,” Alastor sighed. “But you have to understand the predicament we’re in. All of us. Angel included.”

“What predicament?” Vaggie demanded, Charlie tried to set a hand to her shoulder but she shrugged it off, glaring at Alastor. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to get it from the horse’s mouth,” Al snapped, giving her a look that was enough to have her lower the spear at least. “From what I understand, Angel has been offered a brand new shiny human life to lead up on Earth, all alone, without guidance or care from this plane or the one above us.”

Vaggie blinked, before turning to Charlie. By the time she’d finished explaining, Vaggie was pressing the bridge of her nose so hard it looked like she’d leave bruises there. Then she took a deep breath.

“I need coffee,” she decided, moving to join Alastor at the bar, spear dropped to rest against it next to Alastor’s cane. “A lot of fucking coffee. What the  _ hell?” _

“For once we agree,” Alastor mumbled, resting his chin on his hand. “What, indeed?”

“Charlie,” Vaggie said gently, her brow still furrowed as if permanently marred by her consternation, “honey, what were you  _ thinking _ ?”

Charlie looked absolutely betrayed, hot tears of shame welling up in her eyes so quickly that Vaggie gasped and immediately started waving her arms about. 

“No, no, sweetheart, don’t cry, I’m sorry--”

“I was thinking it would be  _ good _ for him,” Charlie said, with a slight whine that made Alastor want to blow out some more lightbulbs. Sympathy had never been his strong suit, in life or in death. “I was… I was thinking about how  _ hard _ he worked, and how much he’d been through, and how if anyone deserved a second chance, it was  _ Angel _ , and, and…” her expression crumpled, and the tears fell so rapidly that Alastor had to shove himself back against the bar, as if he might catch emotion by standing too close. “And I was thinking how  _ really nice _ it would feel to  _ succeed _ at something I worked so hard on, to get it right for  _ once _ in my life, and I’m  _ sorry,  _ I’m so sorry.”

Alastor did not know how to comfort her, nor was he particularly inclined to -- even if it had not been  _ his _ lover she’d banished, ‘comfort’ was something he offered exclusively to Angel, and even then, they had made compromises. Still, it was clear that  _ someone _ had to, and he gave Vaggie a look that no doubt looked a bit manic and alarmed. 

Vaggie looked back at him with a wide-eyed, helpless expression, as if she too had no idea where to begin, and then she opened her arms and Charlie fell into them. 

As if drawn by the sobs, Husker groaned and sat up from behind the bar, where, Alastor supposed, he slept more often than not. Hardly a surprise. He gave the entire scene a look, flipped Alastor the bird, and sunk down to the floor again.

With a hum, Alastor opened up the kitchen door he'd so roughly slammed and locked earlier, a shadow of his slipping through and past Niffty, who immediately zipped over to check out what the ruckus was about.

Not wanting to hear yet another rendition of what had happened to his Angel that morning Alastor moved from the bar and took a seat on the chaise Charlie and Enoch had used not an hour before.

Less. Less than an hour, and it already felt like an eternity. Alastor had once told Angel that he never wanted to experience another dimension without him again. He'd been truthful. He wasn't sure how he would survive Hell without Angel in it.

And therein lay the greatest of all ironies, didn't it? The Hell that had once merely been a change of location now felt like true torment. Perhaps it was true what they said, that each person's Hell was of their own making.

"Aaaalastor?" Niffty bounced in front of him, a cup of coffee in her hand that miraculously was immune to the jittering and hadn't spilled. She offered it up.

"Thank you, Niffty," he sighed, taking the offering.

Alcohol had not been enough. Coffee was unlikely to be an improvement. Without Angel, everything turned to ash in his mouth. 

There was, Alastor supposed, the option of waiting. Angel had been nearly 40 when he died, and prone to the sort of vices that ended one’s life before the twilight years. Left to his own devices, surely he’d fall to the same temptations again. 

But that could take years,  _ decades _ , even. Years of boredom, of bland tastes against his tongue. Years without Angel, years in which Angel would have no knowledge of being missed. A lot could happen in a few decades. Friendship.  _ Love.  _ Sex. 

Salvation.

For the first time, Charlie’s wild, impossible plan had a sliver of hope. A few decades was enough time to find religion, inner peace, even for the worst of the worst. And Angel, as delightfully sinful as he could be, was at heart, deserving of peace. 

But he could find that peace with  _ Alastor _ . Heaven could not have him. Heaven could not be allowed to go anywhere  _ near _ Alastor’s boy. He wouldn’t stand for it. He would storm the gates himself, and only  _ death _ , true cessation of existence, would stop him. No, Angel could not be left on Earth, where holy men and men of sin alike might call to him. He could fuck whoever he wanted, Alastor had never cared, though Angel seemed to prefer intimacy with him alone. But he would  _ belong _ to no one else, no human, no angel--

“Alastor!” Vaggie snapped. WIth a start, Alastor realized he’d been radiating high, droning white noise that had been steadily increasing in pitch and volume.

“I’ll simply have to fetch him,” he said, cutting off his own ambient noise and rising abruptly. 

"Wait, what?"

"There are ways," Alastor said, dusting off the arms of his shirt, despite it being impeccable. "Influences, demonic possession, whatever it is the kids are calling it these days."

"You can't just  _ show up on Earth!" _ Vaggie said. She didn't cower at Alastor's look either. "Technicalities aside, you died, what, in the '30s? Do you have  _ any idea _ how much the world has changed since then?"

"I hardly see how that matters."

"It  _ matters," _ Vaggie snapped, "because you can't just show up fists raised and radiating  _ radio waves _ when no one up there listens to the radio anymore!"

There was a silence for a moment, interrupted only by a popping lightbulb somewhere in another room. Niffty’s cry of dismay could be heard echoing down the hall: “I just replaced that!”

"I'm sorry?" Alastor blinked.

"Even if you can get up there," Vaggie continued, stroking Charlie's back as she clung to her. "Without knowing how the world works you won't find him. And if you find him you won't be able to communicate with him. It's  _ trendy _ to go ghost hunting and summon demons, okay? This isn't spiritualism anymore Alastor, this is digital cameras and EMP readers."

“What was wrong with  _ film _ ?” Alastor complained. Vaggie threw a hand up in agitation. 

“This is my point. All you’re going to do is attract weirdos with ouija boards,” she said, wiggling her fingers as if to emphasize her point. “And if they manage to  _ see _ you? No one is going to care what you have to say about Angel. Look at you!”

Alastor glanced down at himself. He was not as impeccably put together as he normally was, but he thought his outfit suited nicely. “Perhaps a bit outdated, but surely people still wear  _ suits _ ?”

“You have  _ antlers! _ ” Vaggie cried. “And Angel… You won’t be able to describe him, even if you can get your message across. He’ll have a new life. Maybe even a different name.”

“Anthony,” Alastor said softly. 

“Wh-what?” Charlie sniffled. 

“His name,” Alastor explained. “In life. Anthony.”

“Anthony,” Vaggie said with a nod. “ _ Anthony _ doesn’t have six arms.  _ Anthony _ doesn’t have little pink eyes masquerading as freckles. He’ll be a completely different person, Alastor.”

The last was said gently, softly. As if  _ Alastor _ was the one crying his black little heart out. 

“He will be Angel,” Alastor said. “Nothing more, nothing less. A little mind wipe can’t rid him of  _ that _ .”

“He’ll look right through you,” Vaggie whispered. “Can you handle that?”

“Not if I’m corporeal.”

"You can't be fucking corporeal!" Vaggie's compassion seemed to have run out for him as quickly as it had appeared. "We can't just fling ourselves back and forth between here and earth whenever we feel like it, that's the point of being in  _ Hell!" _

"There are ways," Alastor repeated, unfazed by her tone. "If there are ways for some, there is a way for me."

Vaggie didn't even have words anymore for her frustration. But Charlie was watching Alastor very closely, as though he'd grown a second head. He might as well have.

"Al, that's not… it's not  _ right." _

"Please, Charlie dear, do  _ not _ speak of right and wrong to  _ me, _ at this moment." He gave her a look, before looking away. He'd had enough of emotions, of being surrounded by them. He needed to move and make things happen. "I think I'll go for a walk," he said.

"A walk?" Charlie sniffed, wiping her eyes. "Where?"

"About," Alastor gestured with one hand, opening a portal with the other to grab his coat from within. "Around. I've not seen Rosie for some time, and she's always begging me to stop by the saloon."

Before anyone could say another word, Alastor summoned his cane to him and made his way to the door, closing it with such care, that he  _ felt _ the chill that ran through those behind it.

* * *

_ Earth angel, Earth angel, will you be mine?  
_ _ My darling dear, love you all the time.  
_ __ I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you.

Anthony woke with a groan, blindly reaching for his alarm clock to shut it up. It took another two stanzas before he realized he wasn't at his own house and the radio wasn't his alarm clock. Someone was singing -- badly -- along to the music in the other room.

_ Fuck. _ Who'd he slept with this time?

Anthony pushed himself up, groaning at the pounding headache. He must have drank too much,  _ again _ . Thank god for weekends. A glance at the clock told him he still had 22 hours until he had to be in the classroom, giving the same history lesson he’d given every year for ten years now. 

No wonder he’d gotten so hammered last night. He needed to get some better material. 

And some new panties, because no matter how much he rummaged through the room, he couldn’t find them. 

“Yo, Tones!”

The man -- Mark? Marcus? Mercutio?  _ Jim _ ? Anthony couldn’t for the life of him remember, and he had no intention of trying any harder for a man that called him  _ Tones - _ \- poked his head into the doorway, entirely too bright and chipper for someone who’d taken a one night stand home from a crowded gay bar at two in the morning.

“Yeah?” Anthony groaned, tugging his tiny shorts up over his ass. 

“You want ketchup with your eggs?”

Anthony blinked at him. “Uh… Well, you see…”

He trailed off meaningfully. The man rolled his eyes, though at least he didn’t look too pissed. “Liam,” he said.

“Oh, wow, I was  _ way _ off,” Anthony muttered. “Liam, look, you’re a  _ great _ guy, but I don’t really  _ do _ breakfasts.”

“It’s eggs, not a marriage proposal,” Liam said wryly. “I’ll even put them on toast, so you can take them with you.”

Anthony laughed, just a snort, and flicked his hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, alright.” Liam wasn’t terrible looking either, so that helped. Not that Anthony had thought he’d gone home with someone hideous. He’d need to be a lot more drunk for that.

“‘Yeah alright’ to ketchup or the toast to go?” Liam asked. Anthony ducked his head and looked up at him.

“How ‘bout both?”

“Both it is, boss,” Liam winked, and returned to the kitchen. Something about that word pulled Anthony up short, and he frowned a little, as though trying to figure out why such an innocent word was so damn affecting. From the kitchen came the sound of a Spotify Premium ad and he sighed. It didn’t matter. He was in the house of some guy whose name he didn’t even guess right, after a night of what  _ felt like _ a rough pounding.

Things could be worse.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He made good money. Good enough to allow himself to splurge once in a while on fancy clothes and pretty lacy things. He talked to his friends, sometimes. When they weren’t busy with a growing family or starting their second PhD._
> 
> _He wasn’t lonely._
> 
> _He_ wasn’t.

Anthony’s life was quiet, and simple, and that was the way he liked it. 

He had family, back in Bumfuck Nowhere. Parents. Three sisters, one older and two younger. None of them had spoken to him since he came out in college and got himself kicked to the curb. 

He’d done pretty well for himself, though. Now, he lived in Bumfuck New Jersey, and took the train into Manhattan four times a week to teach overprivileged idiots about history. He fucked who he wanted, when he wanted. He lived in an apartment where he didn’t have to share a bathroom with anyone. If he wanted to stay up all night getting his ass beat by a hot guy or six, no one gave him dirty looks when he came crawling back home. 

He went to the gun range, if he was angry. Went out dancing, when he was bored -- and honestly,  _ what _ had been the point to all those dance lessons as a kid if his parents were just going to judge him for using his skills. 

He was fine. It was all just… fine. A little flat. A little lifeless. But fine.

Maybe Anthony needed something. A dog, or whatever. Something to greet him when he came home, something to crawl into bed with him at night.

Just a dog, not a man. Anthony had learned  _ that _ lesson already. Long term relationships were  _ not _ his forte. 

Anthony was at an age where he could have been taking advantage of the ‘daddy’ card, if only he wasn’t such a blatant bottom. He looked good for his age, anyway. He’d always been slim -- a guy twice his age that he’d met in college once called him ‘svelte’ and he found he loved that term even more -- light hair, light eyes, kind of. His left was partially blue and partially brown. He was compared to David Bowie more than once, and honestly? That was a goddamn compliment. Freckles. Everywhere. From beneath his eyes to over his chest. Anthony hated the damn things, but the guys who fucked him didn’t seem to care either way, so he usually ignored them.

He made good money. Good enough to allow himself to splurge once in a while on fancy clothes and pretty lacy things. He talked to his friends, sometimes. When they weren’t busy with a growing family or starting their second PhD.

He wasn’t lonely.

He  _ wasn’t. _

He just felt like he was missing something. Like there had been a bulletin sent out that he’d missed, and everyone else had read it and taken it to heart and grown as human beings and he was just… stuck. Nearly forty and stuck.

Maybe he should move south; he’d been aching to visit New Orleans again, and he could get a job tutoring or something. Plus, that place had some of the best kink clubs in the states, outside of San Francisco which was prohibitively expensive to live in on a lecturer’s salary.

With a sigh, Anthony turned the dial on his radio, listening out for anything in the white noise as he went. Sometimes he caught something, a whisper or a hiss that sounded like it wanted to be heard. His sisters had always laughed at him, because he’d fall asleep to the white noise often as a kid. It calmed him down, what could he say? There was just something about it.

The dial turned, and slowly the voice of a preacher could be heard through the hissing speakers.

Yuck.

Anthony rotated through that mess quickly and moved on, just scanning the AM waves.

There was never anything good on. It wasn’t that Anthony didn’t like music, it was just that it never seemed to be the  _ right _ music. It never filled that desire that lingered in him.

He was being ridiculous, it was just  _ music _ .

The radio caught on some sort of classical station. The soft, lilting sounds of a violin filled the room, and Anthony paused. This… This was pretty good. 

He ended up listening to the entire waltz, start to finish, head tilted back against the wall. It sounded like comfort, soft and sweet. A hand on his waist. A smile tugging at his lips. They said music could make you feel things, but this… This was ridiculous. He was overthinking it. He was being  _ dramatic _ , as his mother would have said.

When the song ended, it left an ache in Anthony’s chest that he couldn’t explain.

* * *

Rosie, charming as always, attempted to spoil Alastor for breakfast. And in truth, it was tempting. She always had the freshest cuts, organs that were sometimes still warm when you bit into them. But Alastor had things to do, and nothing tasted good when his stomach was in knots.

So he asked her, instead, about the best person to talk to about moving between realms.

“You’re quite the artist yourself with that, dear,” Rosie pointed out. Alastor smiled.

“Dimensions, I can shift through, but this is a little out of my area of expertise.”

In the end, he’d gotten a name. One that, surprisingly, he’d heard from Angel on more than one occasion, but never linked to inter-realm travel.

Prince Stolas.

Alastor had never met him, though he had seen him in passing. Alastor had gotten himself invited to a handful of parties from sheer curiosity, and eventually, the sheen of hosting bashes in Pentagram City had worn off, and the elite had returned to traversing the other rings of Hell to get their jollies. On occasion, there was a gala Alastor found himself skirting through, but none since he’d acquired Angel.

Or at least, none worth removing himself from Angel’s presence for the night. 

Apparently, the prince needed to travel upworld to do his job -- a job Rosie had not been entirely clear on. He could do so with very little effort at all.

The problem, however, was thus: Stolas resided in what was either a very large manor or very small castle, in the easternmost edge of Envy. Alastor, meanwhile, resided in Pride with the rest of the sinners who’d once been mortal, confined entirely to that circle with no way of passing the border.

Which meant he was going to have to ask Charlie for help. 

And Charlie, he found, was more than willing to help. And more than that, she was  _ able to. _

“I’ll just text Via!”

Alastor had stood a little confused for a moment, before she pulled out her strange contraption of a phone. Ah. Of course.  _ Technology. _ He watched as Charlie’s fingers flew over the screen, no keys in sight, and offered her a smile when she looked up again.

“We kinda grew up alongside each other,” she said. “It’s rare that hellborns have kids, so there aren’t many of us.”

“The prince has a child?”

“Yeah, Octavia. Via. Loves her to pieces.”

“As all fathers do, I imagine.”

“Yeah,” Charlie’s smile faded a little and she looked away. “Sure. Umm. Anyway. As soon as she writes back we can figure something out. I can’t take you through the rings, and I don’t even think an invitation would get you out, but maybe he can come here?”

Octavia proved to be just as efficient in running her fingers over a screen as Charlie was, and within moments they had an answer.

“She says she’ll convince him to take her to Stylish Occult,” Charlie said. “That’s in our ring. I can come with you!”

Alastor wanted to tell her no, that she’d already done enough, but her earnest, almost desperate need to make things right stopped him. Instead, he asked how long it would take for them to get there and wait.

Stylish Occult managed to be both horrifying and  _ fascinating _ at the same time. The music that blared was more noise than any actual melody, and Alastor could not help but overwhelm the speakers, just a bit. Sound systems that had been entirely digital for years suddenly made analog tuning noises, as he inspected a small display of taxidermied creatures.

“Alastor,” Charlie said nervously, “I uh… I think your noise is frightening the clerk.”

“ _ Noise _ is what they were playing when we arrived,” Alastor murmured back. “They should be grateful I haven’t simply overloaded the wiring. Besides, surely if it bothered him, he would say something himself.”

The clerk had, of course, gone and hidden himself under the counter, where the shadows kept an unseen eye on him, but that was hardly Alastor’s fault. How anyone so cowardly survived hell was beyond him. 

“Right, well, it’s just… I’d kind of like to be allowed  _ back _ when the day is over,” Charlie said gently. 

With a sigh, and more concentration than the equipment was worth, Alastor waved his hand and cut out the sound system entirely, leaving it undamaged, for now, and the store deathly quiet. 

“That’s… one way of doing it… I guess.” Charlie nervously rubbed a hand over her arm as she stood near him. Similar to Angel, she didn’t seem to fear Alastor, though she was certainly wary of him. It appeared that she was more concerned with being seen here with someone who wasn’t her partner than anything else. Alastor sighed, withdrawing as much as he could, so as not to project angry and displeased vibrations everywhere.

They browsed the shop in relative silence, Charlie picking things up at random to examine them, and Alastor standing almost frighteningly still, exploring with his eyes instead. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the appeal of the place, it housed a whole host of curiosities and obscurities, it was simply that he had  _ other things to think about. _

Like the fact that time worked differently in Hell, and that minutes here could be years in the upworld, and that he could be losing Angel with every tick of the goddamn clock.

No.

He couldn’t think about it like that. He had to remember his own convictions. Angel wouldn’t disappear just because he was made to forget. A connection made in Hell was far more than a mere passing conversation; here souls were at their most bare, at their more vulnerable. A connection made was a connection kept.

He wouldn’t lose him.

He  _ couldn’t _ .

“Alastor?” he blinked himself back to the present, and looked at the creature standing next to Charlie. “This is Octavia. Via, this is Alastor.”

“Woooow,” Octavia drawled, blinking her enormous pink eyes at him.  _ “Creepy _ smile. You look like you’re thinking of eating everyone here alive.”

“Perhaps I am,” Alastor replied, smiling wider for effect. To his pleasant surprise, Octavia laughed.

“You’re  _ weird,” _ she told him. “My dad’s over there,” she gestured behind her without looking, her English accent growing more prominent, and diction better, the longer she spoke. “If you wanna talk to him, you’ll have to pry his attention away from the shrunken dungbeetle skeletons.”

“I suppose I can only do my best,” Alastor said, ducking his head to her and Charlie before striding past them towards the only other occupant of the store that wasn’t cowering under a desk.

Stolas was tall, carried himself regally, and was dressed in -- of all things -- a graphic shirt and shorts. Hardly the attire for a prince, but Alastor wasn’t here for presentation. He needed help.

“Prince Stolas?” He turned, all four eyes blinking at Alastor. “My name is Alastor, how do you do?”

Stolas folded both arms behind himself, straightening up. He towered over Alastor by quite a bit, but Alastor was wider spread, with eyes and ears in every nook and cranny of the shop, unseen by others. 

“Alastor,” Stolas said slowly, in a soft, curious voice. “Not the Alastor whose exploits have been broadcast over the radio?”

Alastor had a gimmick, a carefully crafted chatter that could deflect and distract, intimidating listeners with his crimes while simultaneously pushing past them, centering the conversation on the deal they were about to strike. 

He sensed rather quickly that this tactic would be futile with Stolas. Stolas’ curiosity did not come tangled with strings of fear. He wanted to know of Alastor’s misdeeds because it would please him to have the knowledge, not because he wanted to flee the shop if the stories were true.

Alastor gave a careful half bow. “The very same,” he said, short and simple. 

“I must say, you caused quite a stir with your blackout last year. The people were  _ miserable _ . We were very impressed.”

“Delighted to hear it!” Alastor’s smile hurt him, but he kept it steady and in place. “I can say that I’ve heard many a tale about you as well, my dear fellow.”

“Really?” Stolas blinked at him before a smile spread across his features.

“Rosie speaks incredibly highly of you,” Alastor hastened to add, in case he’d accidentally stepped on toes. “And anyone who can curry that woman’s favor is a man worth knowing, I think.”

Stolas brought a hand up to his face, just covering his mouth, demure as anything. And Alastor realized that… he was as open, as easy to read as Angel was, if he looked closely enough. Their mannerisms were similar, their carriage. Angel was far rougher hewn, of course, but it was unmistakable. Alastor sighed. He wouldn’t be able to lie to him either, if they were similar in that regard as well. He had one chance to ask, and one opportunity to insist before he turned to darker forces.

“I’m afraid our meeting, pleasurable as it is, was not coincidental,” Alastor started. Here Stolas clicked his tongue and waved his hand dismissively.

“Certainly not,” he agreed. “Whenever Via wants me to take her here, it’s for some kind of agenda. I allow it, of course, what wouldn’t I do for my little starfire?”

Alastor tilted his head, curious, and Stolas shrugged, seemingly unfazed by this turn of events. A moment later, Alastor continued. “I’ve come to understand that you perhaps have a way for one to go up to Earth, and return.”

Here Stolas clasped his hands together and nodded, eyeing Alastor with the larger set of eyes, as the other looked over him at his daughter.

“I’m afraid that is a  _ very _ delicate matter, Alastor, and one I rarely discuss in public.”

“Someone I care for has been stolen from me,” Alastor rushed to add, hating how desperate he sounded, but unsure how to gauge his voice anymore. 

Stolas’s gaze sharpened, his smaller eyes flickering back to take him in. “Someone you care for…” he murmured, low, inquisitive. “I confess, I had heard rumors. There’s only one soul that comes to mind.”

“Angel Dust,” Alastor confirmed. A memory surfaced, unbidden. To be jealous of the life Angel had held before him was ridiculous;  _ somebody _ would have needed to sate Angel’s need for sex, a task that took up much of Alastor’s energy now that Angel had discovered monogamy. As for all that had happened beyond Angel’s gleeful trysts, Alastor could not and would not be jealous of things that Angel had not wanted to be made part of. 

But it was unusual to find himself face to face with a customer whose attentions Angel had appreciated,  _ praised _ , even. Although the praise had often come with digs at Stolas’…  _ unusual _ personality. 

“Such a darling,” Stolas cooed. “Sweet boy, and well worth the fee. I always gave him a little extra, when he left. You say he was stolen? And taken to Earth?”

Alastor nodded sharply, and the speaker above them emitted a mournful squawk before Alastor was able to stop himself once more.

“A demon among men,” Stolas mused. Alastor felt himself smiling painfully wide. Smile. Smile, and the world smiles with you. Smile, and everyone sees only what you want them to.

“Oh, if only it were so simple,” he said. “You see, he’s been hidden. Tucked into a mortal body.”

Stolas tilted his head. “Mortal, you say?”

“Completely. And with no memory of his time here.”

“Oh, such a cruel fate for such a lamb,” Stolas said mournfully. After a moment, he seemed to remember where they were, straightening up to look around. 

“It’s just us,” Alastor told him. “The girls are window shopping. The clerk was… handled.”

“How thorough,” Stolas said, with an approving smile. “But be that as it may, perhaps this conversation would be best suited elsewhere. How do you feel about afternoon tea?”

"I'm afraid I would be unable to attend," Alastor replied. "And making promises I cannot keep, to a prince of Hell no less, goes against everything I was taught as a gentleman."

"Pressing plans?" Stolas asked, and Alastor had to fight with everything he had to control the buzz of static.

"The last of my mortal chains," he corrected. "Death gave me so much, yet the possibility of leaving the Circle was not one of them."

"A  _ mortal _ you say? How  _ marvelous! _ I've yet to hear of another mortal soul making quite such tidy work of certain previous overlords that need not go mentioned. Bra _ vo." _

Alastor inclined his head again, before looking up at Stolas once more. They were wasting time, but if this was his only opportunity to get to Earth and get to Angel, he wouldn't squander it. Stolas could yet swing either way on his decision.

"Well, then we will simply take our tea here." Stolas decided. "Via!"

"Whaaaat?"

"My darling, we've been invited to afternoon tea!"

"Gross," Via cringed and tugged her beanie down over her head.  _ "Daaad!" _

"Don't be rude, cherub," Stolas scolded her half-heartedly. "I'm sure it will be lovely."

"Perhaps," Alastor interrupted gently, turning to look over his shoulder at Charlie. "While we converse, your daughter will be safe with Miss Charlie?"

"Yeah, dad, I'd  _ really _ rather do that." Octavia mumbled. Charlie, next to her, bounced on the balls of her feet.

Stolas seemed to consider it for a moment, his two sets of eyes blinking slightly out of sync, and then he nodded, extending an arm to Alastor. “Lead the way, good sir.”

* * *

They ended up having tea at an absolutely charming little shop nearby, one which immediately and quite inexplicably emptied itself the moment they walked in the door.

“That  _ always _ seems to happen,” Stolas lamented, accepting a tea cup from the shaking hands of the only remaining employee. 

“People are so busy,” Alastor said wryly, staring down at his own cup in distaste. He much preferred coffee, but the terrified creature had already fled to the back after depositing a teapot and what appeared to be every pastry on offer. Alastor thought he heard a lock click shut behind him. 

“So, tell me all about this… mishap,” Stolas cooed, dumping half a bowl of sugar cubes into a single cup of tea. 

Alastor did so, musing over the pastries on offer as he did. His own palette was a bit more refined than most, but there was a strawberry cake that reminded him startlingly of Angel’s pink freckles. He chose that one, feeling the need to indulge in a hint of sentimentality. If it was good, he would bring Angel here when he was recovered.

“Angels,” Stolas breathed when Alastor was finished. “Oh, it’s been quite some time since I heard from any of my brethren. Enoch always  _ was _ a curious one.”

“I wasn’t aware that your highness was from on high,”

“Oh, just Stolas,  _ please. _ Well, it’s certainly been an  _ age, _ if you know what I mean, but yes, once, long ago, I too was part of that ragged group of misfits. Hard to believe isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Alastor replied, honestly. Stolas looked utterly charmed.

“Well, my dear, I would  _ love _ to be of help--”

“Thank you!”

“--except for a tiny little insignificant detail… I’m afraid my  _ grimoire _ has been… on loan.”

Alastor stared. “On loan?”

“Oh, to a trustworthy individual I assure you. It shouldn’t be difficult at all to get it back from him. Unless he’s at work, he  _ is _ such a studious boy. But I will make it a priority, Alastor, to acquire it forthwith.”

With that, Stolas pulled out a cellphone of his own -- Alastor fought back a cringe -- and pressed just one button before holding the phone to his ear. Alastor heard a muffled voice on the other end, watched Stolas’ expression warm with such a genuine smile that even Alastor felt the heat of it.

_ “Blitzy!” _ Stolas beamed, bringing up a hand to preen as he spoke. “My darling little  _ imp. _ I have need of your services.”

**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Comments? Love? Ping us over on [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/sw_writestuff), [TUMBLR](https://stratsandwhiskeywritestuff.tumblr.com/), or [CURIOUSCAT](https://curiouscat.me/sw_writestuff)!
> 
>  _Earth angel, Earth angel, the one I adore  
>  Love you for ever, and ever more.  
> I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you._  
> \- Earth Angel, by Marvin Berry, Harry Waters Jr.


End file.
